


I Was the Match And You Were The Rock

by echoist



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M, Newt POV, Post-Canon, Snuggling, Tumblr: jaegercon, creature comfort, except when it wasn't the Drift after all, lingering repercussions of the Drift, possible explorations of asexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Jaegercon Bingo Square: 'The Drift'</p><p>'Hermann is strong and solid and stable even if no one else at the PPDC would ever think so, Newt knows so, and come to think of it, he always has. He just never knew the man's mind would be so goddamn beautiful, so bright and full of purpose and satisfaction at a job well done that somehow, impossibly, included him.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was the Match And You Were The Rock

 

The Shatterdome goes insane when its heroes come back, lifts them up, nearly tackles them to the ground, and of course it does, Newt thinks, it _should_ , because they've just saved the world, at least for now, and no one wants to think about last night or tomorrow. It's loud, it's raucous and terrible, the press of so many people, so much enthusiasm riding the surface and breaking the tension in the air into a thousand tiny, painful pieces. It's somehow endurable with Hermann by his side, Newt's arm slung about his neck or his waist, Hermann doesn't seem to mind either one, and that should be surprising, he realizes, when his brain gets around to thinking about it, but then again, maybe not. Not after the Drift.

Hermann is strong and solid and stable even if no one else at the PPDC would ever think so, Newt _knows_ so, and come to think of it, he always has. He just never knew the man's mind would be so goddamn beautiful, so bright and full of purpose and satisfaction at a job well done that somehow, impossibly, included him. Newt hadn't expected the clutter that lingered in the corners, just beyond the fringes of the light cast by balanced equations and running lines of code and he'd tried not to look there, really, even if Hermann doesn't believe him, it's true. He tried to keep out, it just hadn't worked.

Then he loses Hermann somewhere in the push-pull-catastrophe of the crowd, and it's like he's lost his compass, and he gets shoved this way and that and over there again and once up against something rusted and unyielding and when he stumbles over a hose in one of the (empty) hangar bays he goes down hard. But he picks himself up because that's what he does, and everyone's drinking and where did they even get all of that? He thinks he should maybe have a drink, or five, because outside of work, real work, that's the only thing that reliably calms down the sparks racing beneath his skin, but he doesn't. He wants to remember everything he saw in the Drift, it's important to remember, and also because he doesn't want to wake up passed out somewhere embarrassing.

He wants a cigarette so badly he can almost taste it, and Hermann isn't here to snipe at him for it so he worms his way past the exultant throng, so many people, Newt didn't even know there _were_ so many people here at the end of the world. The tugging and shoving and sloppy high-fives make him feel like he's six years old again, standing in the breakers at the beach and getting tossed back again and again. He's not angry at them, but he doesn't understand them anymore than he understood the ocean at that age, and when he finally bursts through into a mostly empty hallway it's such a relief that he just stands there and breathes. Tries to breathe. Thinks really hard about drawing air into his lungs and finally gives up. It's like one of those horrible puzzle toys that parents buy for their children to keep them occupied, the ones with miniature mazes and even smaller silver balls that you can never get to land in just the right place, and that's the point of them, because you just keep trying instead of tugging at someone's sleeve.

Newt knows he's only thinking about childhood because of the Drift, because of what he saw and what was seen, and he digs through boxes in his quarters until he finds the half a pack of cancer waiting to happen that he knew he'd tucked away somewhere. It's a relief just to have it in his hands, and he goes back up, all the way up to the surface and ducks down a side hallway so he won't have to see another face. He shoves his way through the outer door and it's the sort of day that people consider beautiful. The sunlight blinds; it isn't warm but it isn't freezing either and the breeze off the bay is pleasant, smells like salt and memories. He thinks that's wrong, because it should smell like death and ammonia and everything that rots, but it doesn't, and Newt can't quite work out why.

He feels an insistent tug and raises a hand to shade his eyes and what do you know, Hermann's standing by the railing, staring out at nothing, but his presence alone calls out and Newt's standing next to him before he can tell his feet that no, really, that isn't such a good idea. Hermann looks at him, looks down at the pack of cigarettes in his hand, and Newt can feel a flicker of disapproval light up only to be snuffed out. Huh.

'I was just going to – the crowd, man, I can't take that shit, so I just came out here, but since you're here already and I know how much you hate it, I can leave. I can go somewhere else, that's fine. It's fine,' Newt blathers.

'Newton,' Hermann says, sounding like something should follow it, but nothing does, and so he pulls one out anyway, rolling it between his fingers to soften the taste and then fumbling for the lighter in hands that won't stop shaking. Cheap blue plastic slips through the railing and clatters down the concrete wall, disappearing below the waves and oh, that's just great, Newt thinks, really fantastic luck. Hermann produces a battered silver lighter from one of his great deep pockets because the clothes he insists upon wearing are always at least two sizes two large and the sight of it momentarily confounds Newt, Hermann only smokes cigars, and that's rare enough - until he remembers. He'd seen it before, not that long ago, just not this real. It belonged to his grandfather, a military man, too young for the Second Great War, but old enough to serve in the Bundeswehr when his time came. Hermann flicks it open and the flame rises up, hot and surprising in the way of contained fire, holding it out to Newt who manages to get the end of the stick lit without dropping it as well.

'Th- thanks, man,' he manages, realising it's been his entire body shaking for some time now, and not just his fingers. He squints against the light and takes a drag, sucking the smoke in deep and letting it out as slowly as he can, grateful that the wind carries it away from Hermann and not back into his face. He latches on to Hermann as hard as he can, not physically, because Newt's fairly certain that wouldn't be acceptable and he'd just throw Hermann off balance anyway. Mentally, reaching back into the Drift even though it's gone, something's still there, something tying the two of them together and right now he needs that more than he wants to admit.

But it isn't only Hermann waiting for him in that connection, is it? No, there was a third participant, helpless and unwilling, its brain shuffling off its last few embers before collapsing in an underdeveloped heap. They'd drifted with the infant clone and they'd felt it die, and that death, that weight was still right there, waiting for Newton every time he closed his eyes. He knew that it would have only tried to kill them, like its mother – was that the right word? More of an incubator, if you thought about it, a kaiju-shaped spawning pod, possibly capable of making unlimited copies of itself depending on the resources it needed for such an investment and even though he'd thrown himself down in the street before it, hands out and flailing in helpless supplication or surrender, Newt couldn't find the feelings he knew he was supposed to have over its pitiful demise. It never had a chance, and then they'd _used_ it. They hadn't had a choice, and they hadn't given it one either and this one, this one is on them. They'd saved the world by stealing what that creature knew, but Newt couldn't help but wonder how much it learned about them in return before it finally expired. Could it even understand what had happened? Could they?

'It's not as if you could have saved it,' Hermann says quietly, and Newton remembers to flick the long trail of ashes off the end of his cigarette, watching them fly off into the sun.

'I know,' he agrees. 'I know that, Hermann, but here's the thing - '

'You've nothing to feel guilty about on that score, either,' Hermann says more firmly, turning away from the rolling waves to face him, watching him take puff after puff with shaky, forced breaths. It tastes awful in Newt's mouth, burning tar and dead leaves and the dirty ground and he thinks, that's from a song somewhere, something I used to play to annoy Hermann while he was working. Only now he knows that Hermann got used to it, worked better with the constant noise in the background, whether it was his music or just him, and really, that was something Newt hadn't expected at all.

'We didn't even _try_ ,' Newt says, pushing the thought aside while throwing the filter to the ground and grinding it beneath his heel. 'And now I feel like it's stuck in here,' he almost shouts, gesturing with three fingers to the side of his head and popping his thumb as if shooting a make-believe pistol.

'What would you have done with it, had it lived?' Hermann replies, pulling his hand down and placing it back on the rail. 'We couldn't have kept it like some kind of pet,' he asserts with a grimace. 'It would only have grown to be the size of Otachi, and what do you think would have happened, then?'

'Mass destruction,' Newton answers with a shrug. 'But think of how much we could have learned about them if we had one we could actually study!' He slumps down a bit, still shaky, looking down at the water. 'You know as well as I do that the Breach could theoretically reopen at any time. I swear, if they still decommission us after all this -' Newton trailed off, shaking his head.

'They've already decommissioned us,' Hermann reminds him, and Newton lift up his hands, gesturing angrily.

'Yeah, and look where their stupid 'Wall of Life' program got them,' he throws out, each word like a miniature missile. 'They don't work. Jaegers are the _only_ things that work, and until we know more about the kaiju, we can't design anything better!' Newt clenches and opens his fists repeatedly, bounding on the balls of his feet.

'Do you imagine that I don't know that?' Hermann responds angrily. 'I'm sure you saw how long it's been since I've even spoken with my father.'

Then Newt remembers. 'Oh, shit,' he spits out, taking a step back. 'I didn't mean – I mean, ok, let's be real, I _did_ mean, but I forgot your father was the one spearheading the thing these days.' Not just his father, Newt thought, flipping back through the memories like a picture book. It didn't quite work that way, but it was as good as he was going to get, unless Hermann wanted to Drift with him again, and who in their right mind would agree to that?

He knows it's not just Hermann's father, it's Vanessa too, and wow, he'd never even known the two of them were involved. It had to suck when she'd switched sides and left the Jaeger program to hide behind the Wall with his own father. Newt bit down hard on his tongue so the words wouldn't leave his mouth. He hadn't come equipped with a brain-to-mouth filter, but occasionally even Newt knew when things were best left unsaid.

Hermann makes a face. 'What did you just do, you idiot man?' he asks, sounding irritated and concerned all at once.

'Erm, nothing?' Newt attempts, but he'd drawn blood and it still hurts and dammit, it must've hurt Hermann, too. This connection was going to take a long time to get used to – unless, he thinks, unless it would wear off on its own, and then everything would be _fine_.

'Don't lie to me, Newton,' Hermann protests. 'Of course it – it stung, a bit, when Vanessa chose politics over science, not that she'd ever see it that way, of course. But that was – that's in the past. It's not as if we never speak, or well, communicate, I suppose. We're still -' Hermann pauses, searching for the right word.

'Friends?' Newt suggests, trying to be helpful.

'Yes, I believe you could call us friends,' Hermann admits. 'Even if we fundamentally disagree about one another's projects. Does that surprise you, that I have friends?'

'What?' Newt replies. 'No, man, of course not. Of course you have friends. You're a human being, and before you start, I've never thought otherwise, ok?'

Hermann lets out a small noise that sounded like 'hmph,' acting, as usual, as if he were about twenty years older than anyone in the room. Or the observation deck, Newt reasons. Even when it was only the two of them, Hermann's defenses triggered and the result was a convincing act of superiority.

'I'm gonna miss you, dude,' Newton throws out, not knowing what else to say. 'Whatever happens next, if we get shut down or reassigned or whatever – ' He glances up at Hermann, who's staring back at him in guarded puzzlement. 'I'm – not actually sure I know how to work with anyone else anymore.'

'That's ridiculous,' Hermann counters. 'You're intelligent, despite your frankly unorthodox methods and ideas. You'll find a place.'

'Yeah,' Newt allows, a bit sadly. 'But it probably won't be with you.' He knows Hermann would be grateful for that, really, as would anyone. It's a bit too fine a point to put on it, and he runs a hand through his hair, already sticking up all over the place before the salt wind had its way with it.

'I should go,' Newt stumbles. 'I want to record everything we saw about the Anteverse in there. I've got to get it all down before I forget a single detail, because that's the last chance we're ever going to get, you know, unless it starts happening all over again.'

'It very well might,' Hermann suggests. 'They've initiated the Breach, at least twice that we know of. I don't believe those creatures will ever consider themselves truly defeated unless it's on their turf, so to speak, and that would be -'

'A suicide mission,' Newt finishes, nodding. 'We really don't need any more of those.' They stand side by side, staring out into nothing, really, and for once, Newt doesn't know what to say.

'Go and record your notes,' Hermann says, his chin tilted up as if issuing a directive. 'I don't think we're being missed inside.'

'Yeah, and that kind of sucks, you know why?' Newt replies, pacing around in something approximating a circle. ''Cause without us, that bomb would have blown up in their faces and we'd be nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. Ok, so actually we might already be dead, which, technically is still nowhere, but we also could be dead from even trying to drift with a whole brain, so don't you think they should at least say 'Hey guys, thanks for risking your lives for us?''

'No,' Hermann responds. 'They've got their heroes. They don't need us.'

'Yes, they do!' Newt all but explodes. 'Even if they don't know it, or won't admit it, whatever. The Jaegers may have been our best hope, but who programmed them, huh? You did. Who figured out the structure of the Breach? Yeah, that was you, too. And I've spent the past ten years up to my eyeballs in steaming, stinking kaiju guts telling the pilots where and how to hit, so they could take them out in minutes instead of days, and every time they did I got a new one of these babies,' he says, his arm quivering as he points out the tattoo of Yamarashi riding his forearm. 'Because I was a part of that.'

'Not just because you love them?' Hermann replies with a smile – an actual, honest to god smile, and for just a second, he eclipses the sun.

'No,' Newt answers a bit sullenly, after regaining the ability to speak in complete sentences. 'They were these gigantic puzzles, something we'd never seen in the evolutionary record, something we knew absolutely nothing about and they were taking down entire cities! Someone had to solve that riddle from the inside out,' he says, kicking at a stray stone and sending it coursing out over the water. 'And if it meant taking shit from my former colleagues and everyone else who thought they knew something, then fine, all right, that was _fine_ because I didn't see anyone else lining up to do the job.'

'The pilots always listened to you,' Hermann adds, his tone less scornful than it could have been. 'And Pentecost, when it truly mattered.'

'It always mattered,' Newt grumbles. 'And ok, yes, I _do_ love them, or at least I did, but it never meant I wanted them to win _._ ' He stops pacing for a moment and stares at his feet instead. 'So what if that's the only way I know how to love something. I know you saw that too, Hermann,' he finishes a bit miserably, scuffing his feet. 'It's not something I can change.'

'No one particularly likes to be dissected,' Hermann answers gently, and Newt somehow knows the statement comes from bittersweet experience. 'What I saw in the Drift - ' he trails off for a moment, considering, and Newt lets the silence spread out, realizing his shoe is untied. 'You always picked challenges, Newton. You overwhelmed them. Not everyone can handle being pinned to a board and categorized.'

'Of course I picked challenges, nothing else was ever any fun. But it was always time, they needed more time. Or space. I don't really do space,' Newt grumbles, then looks up. 'Wait, why are we talking about my failed relationships?'

'You brought it up,' Hermann dissembles, looking away.

'Not really, dude,' Newt corrects. 'You're still in my head, aren't you? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I'm still in yours, and it's –' he squeezes his eyes shut. 'It's the strangest, most interesting thing that's ever happened to me and I know you don't want me in there, you can't, but I really don't want to give it up, all right?'

'Even if the kaiju are still with us, as well?' Hermann asks, sounding unsure, and that really isn't the response Newt expected.

'Maybe it's an opportunity,' Newt pushes. 'Maybe we can still learn things about them, hell, maybe we'd even know if they were coming back! That would make us valuable to the PPDC, wouldn't it? We wouldn't have to leave, we could stay, we could continue our research – unless, I mean,' he tries to slow down his thoughts. 'Unless you don't want to.'

'You're not the only one feeling some … aftereffects from the Drift, Newton,' Hermann responds. 'But we can't know how long it will last. With the Jaeger pilots, it might be a few hours, maybe an entire day, depending on how long they were tethered. I've tried to model the Drift, find an equation that would fit all the data at my disposal, but there were simply too many variables. Each pilot's mind is unique, from what they carry over into the neural handshake, to how long that symmetry lasts until it begins to break down.'

'You can't really put us into the same category, can you?' Newt asks. 'Even as an outlier.'

Hermann shakes his head. 'Adding a third consciousness to the Drift throws all my work out the window.'

'Yeah, I'm not going to apologize for that,' Newt asserts, and Hermann lets a small laugh slip past his lips. 'You could spend years just trying to figure out what we experienced, and I, for one, don't think that's a bad thing. Unless they come back sooner,' he leaves off, his knuckles white where he's grabbed onto the railing for support. They lapse into silence for quite some time, Newt feeling as if he should leave, do as Hermann suggested and record all his impressions before they faded away, but realizing with each passing moment that they aren't going leave him so easily. Everything he'd witnessed seems burned into his neural cortex, almost like a scar.

Something tugs him back, every time he tries to turn back to the doorway and go back to the lab. He thinks he might know what it is, has a hypothesis that he'd like to test, at least, and so he finally opens his mouth to ask. 'How did you know we were going to be Drift compatible?'

Hermann fidgets with his cane for a moment before answering. 'I didn't, not for certain. But it didn't seem like we had any better options, and - rather like you, Newton, I'm not sure I know how to work with anyone else anymore, either.' He lets the admission hang there, suspended between them, without any further clarification.

'So,' Newt starts in, one leg bouncing up and down. 'Because we drive each other insane on a regular basis,' he posits, counting on his fingers, 'push one another to greater levels of stupidity, and shout over each other until we figure out the answer to any given question, you thought our minds could handle that kind of connection?'

'You've always been a challenge, Newton,' Herman says softly in answer, and it takes a moment for that to sink in. 'And I know you haven't _completely_ figured me out. Not just yet.'

Newt stares up at him, blinking his eyes slowly. 'Do you want me to?' he questions, and time seems to be moving slower, so he can't really tell if Hermann answers him aloud or if – if he just _knows_ that no matter how long they work together, even if they'd been pilots and had Drifted together over and over again, there would still be puzzles left to unlock on both sides, doors that hadn't opened and maybe never would. Newt feels oddly content with that knowledge, even though it runs contrary to the way he's seen the world since he was a child. Well, he justifies, trying to wrap his mind around the turn in their conversation. He's pretty good at being contrary. Excellent, in fact.

'Ok,' Newt says, still processing. 'This might be way, way out of bounds, even for me, but are you trying to tell me -' His hands are in the air, as if to trying grasp something physically to ground the conundrum in his mind, and it's such a quintessentially _Newton_ thing to do that Hermann bows his head, just out of view, and smiles.

'Yes,' he answers, barely above a whisper, but he knows Newton hears him because every wild motion in his body just – stops.

'Yes as in I'm an idiot and I completely misunderstood and now you just want me to go away forever, or yes as in – as in the other thing, because I didn't need the Drift to tell me how I – and why didn't you ever say anything,' Newt demands, punching Hermann lightly square in the chest. 'Hermann, you do realize that we could have been – this _whole time_ , god, you have no idea -'

'Because I don't like being wrong!' Hermann exclaims, reaching out to encircle Newton's wrist with his fingers.

'But you weren't wrong,' Newt replies, matching his volume.

'I didn't know that until I slapped on that godforsaken helmet!' Hermann retorts, and they could probably hear his answer all the way to the top of the Shatterdome.

'I guess,' Newt breathes out, intensely aware of every centimeter of Hermann's skin pressing against his own. 'I guess you didn't think it was a worthwhile experiment?' he asks, and he's not even hurt, he's just confused.

'You're not an experiment, Newton,' Hermann corrects his train of thought. 'Given that we had no choice but to continue working together, I weighed the options and decided -'

'Well I've decided you're an idiot,' Newton asserts, taking off his glasses and reaching up to grasp Hermann's face in both his hands. 'At least about this,' he adds, tilting his face until he can reach Hermann's lips and the sudden shock of contact stuns them both for a moment. They stay like that, the call of seabirds echoing around them until Hermann's hands wrap around his own and then it could be called a proper kiss. Newt's mouth moves against Hermann's as slowly, as gently as he can manage. Hermann's hand slides down to wrap around the back of his neck, holding Newt there, as his mouth slowly opens beneath Newt's searching tongue. He licks his way in, kissing the corner of Hermann's mouth and sliding across his tongue. It's a pretty good kiss, Newt has to admit, even as far as sloppy, unexpected first kisses go.

He doesn't pull back until he has to, until the need for oxygen becomes overwhelming and Hermann's staring at him with this look he can't puzzle out. 'Was that – I mean, it seemed ok, was that ok?' Newt asks, unsure, and Hermann nods, his eyes a bit dazed.

'Really,' Hermann says, as if surprised at an unexpected outcome to an equation on his blackboard. 'This whole time?' Newton nods enthusiastically, leaving no room for doubts.

'You fascinate me,' Newt tries to explain, his thoughts tumbling over one another in an attempt to be heard. 'I can't figure you out, I don't know what makes you tick until I'm in your face, poking at your models and pushing one way or another, and even if I never really understand – especially if I don't – god, Hermann – we could be _good_ together.' He pauses for a moment, glancing up and then hastily back down from the open, nearly unguarded expression on Hermann's face. 'I guess I just didn't want to fuck up any more than I already did on a daily basis.' Newt tries to look down, slightly embarrassed, but Hermann pulls his chin back up.

'You don't – screw up, I mean,' Hermann stammers. 'You just take risks, and sometimes I wish you wouldn't, but that's the nature of science, that's what we were here to do. And I think we still need to be here, to keep doing it. Our work, that is, not -' His face reddens a bit with the possible implications of what he's just said.

'I get this feeling that no matter where we end up,' Newton posits. 'We're still going to have this connection. Maybe it's because of the kaiju hive-mind, maybe it's the Precursors looking back at us as hard as we went looking for them, I don't know, all right? Maybe it's because that little version of Otachi is still in here somewhere, and it hurts, and I can't fix it – because I know what dying feels like, and I've honestly never been afraid of it before, but I am now.'

Hermann's hands wrap around Newton's waist, and they're so strong, so immoveable, it lets him convince himself that he doesn't have to go anywhere, at least not yet. Maybe not for a while. He rests his head on Hermann's shoulder, leans into him, and suddenly realizes that they both stink. 'We should probably get some sleep,' Newt says reluctantly. 'And shower. There should definitely be at least one shower involved in there somewhere because these clothes have got to _go_ -'

'Then get a fresh change of clothes and meet me in my quarters,' Hermann suggests, pressing a smile into Newton's cheek. He knows what Hermann's thinking, can almost see it as if they were still in the Drift, and yeah, he can definitely get on board with this plan. And Newt knows, ok, he knows all that crap about the Drift being silence, about not carrying anything into it with you, but he's never been so glad to have screwed something up in all his life. He knew exactly what he carried in there with him, couldn't have gone in any other way, and he saw what Hermann couldn't let go of, and without that, maybe they would have moved on to other stations, other projects, and never actually talked about this at all.

It wasn't just the Drift, it wasn't some lingering side effect; it was a light, shining deep into those corners that neither one of them was supposed to touch, but of course they did. It was an unknown variable, and neither of them had ever been able to resist that. He holds Hermann's hand all the way to the elevator, and leans against him as much as he's leaning against the wall at their backs. Newt only lets go when he ducks into his room for a few minutes, and when he comes out, he can already hear the shower running in Hermann's bathroom. He tests the door, finds it unlocked, and slips inside, locking it behind him. It's not like anyone else ever comes down here, and even if they did, Newton would have grinned and flipped them off and done precisely what he was always going to do anyway.

He strips off his clothes, still slightly wet with god only knows what, stained iridescent blue, and balls them up in a corner without thinking. Then it hits him that Hermann would hate that, so he unfolds them and spreads them over the back of a metal chair, so they at least look neat. Kind of. Maybe.

The door to the bathroom is open, and he steps through the cloud of steam emanating out into the room. 'Hermann?' he questions, not out of any misunderstanding as to whose body he can see through the curtain, but almost to ask permission. The curtain pulls back ever so slightly, and a hand motions out to him. There's a small chair sitting to one side of the shower, and Newton thinks maybe he won't need that this time, maybe he can hold Hermann up if he overbalances. Maybe he can do _something_ for him, no matter how small.

Newt takes Hermann's hand and steps over the tiny ridge into the tiled shower and they stand there for a few moments, Hermann hogging all the warm water, before he steps to one side and lets Newt under the spray. His hands run down the tattoos inked across Newton's skin, having never seen the full set but having always, always wanted to ask.

'Yeah,' Newton murmurs when Hermann's hand lingers in the blank space just above the small of his back. 'I was thinking I'd give that to Otachi and – and mini-Otachi. You can come with me, if you want, I mean I know it might not be much fun to watch someone _else_ getting tattooed, but – but if you want. The offer's there.'

'Perhaps I will,' Hermann answers, and Newt looks up at him sharply.

'You want one. I _knew_ it, you want some ink. That's fantastic! I'll take you to my guy, maybe we can figure out something small to start with, it doesn't have to be any grand design like all this.'

Hermann shushes him with two fingers pressed against his mouth before picking up the soap and running it across Newton's skin. He sighs, and leans back into the contact. God, it's been so long since anyone had done this for him, it's amazing, it's – it's perfect. Hermann's fingers linger in all the right places, and he's half hard before he turns around to give Hermann the same treatment. He takes his time, feeling his way around Hermann's skin, and doesn't pause before sinking down to rub the soft bar of soap along his damaged leg. His fingers get lost in the deep red and purple scars, and Newt presses his face against them after rinsing him off. He kisses them, one by one, running his hands up and down Hermann's leg with light, smooth strokes.

He doesn't know, hasn't asked yet, if it was an accident or just surgery after surgery since birth; it doesn't matter to Newt if it's not a story Hermann particularly wants to share. He's never been satisfied with that before, and the thought nearly knocks him over on his ass. He wants to map Hermann out, know everything there is to know about his skin and the bones beneath, but if there are things Hermann needs to keep to himself, that's all right. It's ok, and for the first time, Newt feels an answering gratitude wash over him, as much a part of the water as it is a product of Hermann's mind.

He stands back up and draws Hermann back under the spray, kissing him hard and full on the lips. It's messy, as it should be, water pouring down their faces and getting into their mouths. Hermann maneuvers them around until Newt's back hits the plastic wall, tilting his head back and up and kissing him until hew doesn't know which way is up or down and he doesn't even _care_.

A stray thought flickers through Newt's mind as Hermann's hands drift over his body but never tease, never instigate anything more. He'd considered the possibility that maybe Hermann was just asexual, and that was fine, it was still fine, to be completely honest. He hadn't expected that kissing would figure into that paradigm at all, but Newt supposed you never knew. As Hermann had said earlier, every human mind was different, and that was what made neuroscience so fascinating.

If he was all right with this, if creature comfort was all Hermann wanted, then this could be enough. Newt had never wanted to be so entirely a part of someone's life before, and even if it meant he couldn't do all the things he'd imagined over the years, well, they still made pretty amazing fantasies.

They get out when the water begins to run cold, drying each other off, and Newt reaches for his stack of clean clothes but Hermann grabs his wrist. Hermann plucks out a pair of boxers that look hardly worn and an undershirt, slipping them on, and selects a similar combination for Newton, biting his lip as he holds it out. Newt thinks he gets it, and pulls them on, heading out of the bathroom and straight for the bed.

He doesn't give two shits about what time of day it is; he and Hermann are on their own time now, and if Hermann wants to share his bed and sleep the day away, Newt is absolutely fine with that. His bed's larger anyway, on account of considerations for his leg and hips, and Newt would really, really like to use that to his full advantage. If today's not that day, if that day never came, it was- it was all right. It's really, actually fine, and that sets the back of his brain to humming.

He plops down on the bed frame, looking up at Hermann curiously. 'You want the side by the wall, or this one, in case you need to get up?' Hermann looks surprised by the question, but chooses the side facing the open room and carefully stretches out as Newt scoots farther back. He lowers himself down slowly, pulling a sheet over them and tucks his head beneath Hermann's collarbone. He can hear Hermann's heart beating, slow and even, and this moment marks the closest Newt's been to relaxed in – years, if not longer.

'I'm not precisely – what you think,' Hermann whispers into Newton's hair. 'Though it was such a comfortable lie, I embraced it, inhabited it. I can try be what you want, I just need some time to adjust.' He winces at his choice of words, and tries again to explain, but Newton shushes him with a short, chaste kiss.

'Be who you are,' Newton encourages softly. 'I won't push you, I don't ever want you do to anything that makes you uncomfortable, all right? We've got all the time in the world,' he adds, as if that were true, and maybe, just maybe, they can _make it_ true. At least for them. Hermann sighs in relief and wraps his arm around Newton's side. Newton cuddles closer as if given permission, his knees pulling up almost to his chest and doing his best to avoid bumping into Hermann's less-functional leg.

Newton's asleep almost immediately, walled in by Hermann's skin and smelling the fresh, clean scent of him over the damp and rusted walls of their quarters. He dreams of Otachi and her struggling, half-formed desperate birth, and wakes up trying to hold back in a wash of conflicted tears. Hermann's there for him, he's right there with him, and Newton knows, deep in his gut, that whatever this is, however it might evolve and change, it's still for better or for worse.

It's the best chance he's ever taken, even if it's still an open-ended equation. They just have to find the right variables, that's all, and Newt's certain it will balance out in no time.


End file.
